


Light and Dark Inside Us

by Blue_Savannah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Savannah/pseuds/Blue_Savannah
Summary: Rey remembers her panic at the sight of his silver goatee and half-moon spectacles, how he’d set her wardrobe on fire when she’d demanded,prove it, prove you’re a wizard. She remembers the weight of his bulbous green eyes as they’d traveled the length of her face, lingering on the divot in her chin and the pale scar that sliced her cheek in half, like he was divining the history of her physical pain.Everyone possesses measures of both light and darkness, he’d said, as she’d stammered out awkwardly that she didn’t deserve a place at Hogwarts.What makes us who we truly are, is the part we choose to act on.Back then, abandoned and tossed aside like trash, Rey had wanted to prove she was good. She still does.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Rey
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	Light and Dark Inside Us

Witches come of age at seventeen – but for Rey, breakfasting in the Great Hall under a cloudy enchanted sky and watching Finn inhale eggs and bacon faster than you can say _hungry_ , her birthday is just another day. Noise eddies around her, students yawning hugely as they stumble into the Great Hall from their dorms, some with ties askew, others bleary-eyed and sporting rumpled hair. Rey looks up – there’s still no sign of her boyfriend Poe. Did he forget her birthday?

She returns to her food, not feeling special, nor older, nor more capable. If anything, she feels more alien. A Hogwarts sixth year, she’s seventeen today, a full year older than her classmates. Hogwarts students are accepted to the school on their eleventh birthdays, but she’d been a first year at twelve. People naturally assumed it had something to do with the fact that her magic had manifested late, but both Rey – and Professor Yoda – know that’s not the case. 

Not for the first time, Rey wonders if she shouldn’t have ended up at Hogwarts. Maybe she’d have been better off in a school with Dark Arts leanings, like Durmstrang. In fact, she’d almost ended up there – she’d had her acceptance letter clutched in one sweaty fist when Professor Yoda had apparated onto the doorstep of the orphanage in the middle of the night. 

Rey remembers her panic at the sight of his silver goatee and half-moon spectacles, how he’d set her wardrobe on fire when she’d demanded, _prove it, prove you’re a wizard_. She remembers the weight of his bulbous green eyes as they’d traveled the length of her face, lingering on the divot in her chin and the pale scar that sliced her cheek in half, like he was divining the history of her physical pain. 

_Everyone possesses measures of both light and darkness_ , he’d said, as she’d stammered out awkwardly that she didn’t deserve a place at Hogwarts. _What makes us who we truly are, is the part we choose to act on_. 

Back then, abandoned and tossed aside like trash, Rey had wanted to prove she was good. She still does. 

But if anyone can relate to the darkness she desperately tamps down inside herself, it’s – 

Unbidden, her eyes dart to the Slytherin table, to where Kylo Ren is holding court among his admirers, as usual. Dark-haired Rose Tico is glued to his mouth, her hands wrapped around chiseled arms that Rey knows from experience are big enough to sink into and disappear. Even with Rose monopolizing the lower half of his face, Rey imagines that Kylo still shifts imperceptibly towards the Gryffindor table, that his black eyes seek out her brown ones – 

Hurriedly, she breaks gaze to stare down at her plate of uneaten kippers like they’re the most interesting food item she’s ever seen. 

“Happy birthday, Rey!” 

Rey jolts, splashing her goblet of pumpkin juice. Looks like Poe has finally made an appearance in the Great Hall.

“I waited for you at the portrait hole this morning, but I guess you went down to breakfast early?” He slides into the open seat beside her, draping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a package tied with twine into her hands. The wrapping paper is flashy, depicting alternating patterns of neon Snitches and Bludgers, interspersed with tiny four-leaf clovers (Poe’s mom is a huge Quidditch fan, and a shameless Irish supporter). “Happy birthday, babe.”

“Thank you!” Rey presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, tearing her mind away from Kylo Ren and his bevvy of girls with their hot, open, ready mouths. Poe’s hair is damp, like he just got out of the shower and his stubble smells like fresh grass and aftershave. It’s a comforting scent, reminiscent of the rain-soaked woods she retreated to as a kid, when the cacophony of the orphanage got to be worse than the screaming inside her head. She was always punished for running off, but she worried that without the field maples and beech trees and endless spiral of sky to ground her, she’d eventually give in to the rage that simmered in her chest. In some ways, it was the universal, anthemic rage of all unloved and forgotten children, but in other ways it was deeply personal: a slew of painful life experiences colliding with a dangerous magic she didn’t understand. She’d buried the troubling magic deep inside herself until the day she no longer could, when it had rushed forth, unchecked, unbidden, unrestrained, utterly untamed.

Ripping open the package, Rey’s hands close around steel and glass. The object looks like a mirror set on a tiny silver stand, but instead of her own reflection, she sees shadowy outlines skulking in the background of the glass.

“Do you like it?” Poe is practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. “I know how much you like Dark Detectors. It’s a Foe Glass. It shows you your enemies. See how they just look like shadows right now,” he points, demonstrating. “It’s only when they get clear enough to see that you’ve got to start worrying. That means they’re close enough to grab you.”

“I absolutely love it.” 

Rey rests her head on Poe’s shoulder, twining her fingers through his underneath the table. She does love the gift – but more than anything, she loves being cared for. She loves that Poe thinks of her, that he catalogs her habits and doles out little presents. A childhood starved of any affection has left her ignorant to what a healthy, happy relationship should look like – but shouldn’t it be like this, this steady comfort, this quiet hand holding and occasional declaration of feelings? She tries not to focus on the fact that the only real iota of passion she’s ever experienced wasn’t with Poe. _Passion isn’t everything._

“I’m so glad.” Poe uncouples their hands to squeeze her shoulder. “Don’t forget I’m taking you to dinner in Hogsmeade tonight, too.”

“I haven’t.” Rey beams. “7 PM.”

Just then, there’s an uproar at the Slytherin table – apparently Kylo and his friend Hux have hexed a third-year Ravenclaw, who’s fast sprouting purple boils all over his fact. As Rey watches, the boy whimpers, hands pressed to his chin – which has swollen to roughly the size and color of an eggplant – before running out of the Great Hall.

“I know people think he’s “The Chosen One” and all that,” Poe says, his face twisted in disgust as Professor Snoke rushes over from the staff table, wand in hand. “But Kylo is a right git.”

“Yeah.” Rey looks back at her kippers again. Her cheeks are hot, and her heartbeat is ratcheting up in her chest; with effort, she thrusts her mind back to Occlumency lessons with Professor Calrissian. 

_White walls. White buildings. White noise. My mind is an impenetrable fortress. Nothing can get in. Nothing can faze me._

\---

_A memory._

It’s fifth year, Winter Ball, and the castle is festooned with glittering chunks of icicles the size of boulders. Glowing, golden baubles hang suspended in place of candles in the Great Hall. Enchanted Cornish pixies flit from room to room, blowing sugared kisses in their wake. Even the teachers seem to have gotten into the holiday spirit – Professor Holdo is sporting a sprig of holly in her dress robe and Professor Yoda’s Christmas-themed socks sing _God Bless Ye, Merry Gentlemen_ (very loudly and very off-key) as he waltzes merrily across the dance floor with Professor Chewbacca.

Rey is sitting at one of the tables in the back of the room, drinking a Butterbeer and watching her friends gyrate to the wailing strains of the Weird Sisters. Her feet ache from spinning across the dance floor and strands of long hair are are glued to the nape of her neck and coiled against her clavicle, sticky with sweat. At the insistence of some Gryffindor girls, she’d worn her hair down instead of in its customary three buns (a decision she now regrets) and traced a vivid spray of liner across the natural curve of her eyelids, keeping her lips bare. Her dress is slinky black and insubstantial gauze, falling open from her clavicle to her cleavage. She’d bought it on sale with the salary she makes serving ice cream during the summers. Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the Muggle changing room, the dress had been magical, fitting like it was sewn for her alone, clinging and draping in all the right places, emphasizing her slender waist and the lush flare of her hips. 

“Hello.”

Rey looks up, startled. She’d been so lost in mundane thought that she hadn’t noticed Kylo Ren walking up to her table. He’s striking from afar, but up close, he’s mesmerizing: the narrow angles of his face offset by ridiculously full lips, locks of dark hair falling rakishly across his forehead like a goddamn Disney character.

“Hello,” she stutters. 

“You looked lonely.” One corner of his mouth curves upwards as he regards her. “Would you like to walk with me to the grounds? I need some fresh air.”

Rey’s trepidation vanishes. Her spine straightens. “I’m not _lonely_ ,” she snaps. “My friends are dancing just over there.”

 _Lonely_ is the anthem of her childhood. In this strange and powerful castle that’s the only home she’s ever known, she refuses to be defined by that word, not when she has fought so hard to forge a future for herself.

Kylo follows her gaze to where Finn and Poe are exuberantly bobbing to a beat, before holding up both hands in a sarcastic gesture of surrender. “Got it, you’re not lonely. You have lots of friends. Maybe I’m the one lonely for your company.” 

_That smirk should be illegal_ , Rey fumes. She has no illusions about what a walk with Kylo means. The Wizarding World refers to him as “The Chosen One” because as a baby, he somehow brought about the downfall of the greatest Dark Wizard of all time: Lord Palpatine. Kylo's birth heralded the dawn of a new era, one full of hope. And as he grew up, sheltered under the care of his uncle Luke after his mother and father were killed by Palpatine, danger seemed to trail Kylo like a niffler seeking out gold nuggets. There was the nasty business with the basilisk in second year, the acromantulas in third year and most ominously – the whispers that Kylo had confronted Palpatine again last year, though _The Daily Prophet_ had yet to report anything beyond rumors and hearsay.

Ever since he stepped foot in the castle, Kylo has leveraged his fame as a weapon of seduction. He’s never without a girl on his arm, and Rey doesn’t want to be the next one he toys with and discards. 

She mulls things over as Kylo continues to watch her. 

“It’s just a walk,” he says finally. “No funny business.”

Rey wipes her sweaty palms against her dress. “OK,” she agrees. After all, she is in control; she refuses to let Kylo get under her skin. Tonight, in this daring dress, she is Rey, goddess of the night. Tomorrow she’ll once again be a fifth year of no consequence who makes sensible life decisions.

When Kylo takes her hand, jolts of static shock shoot through Rey’s nerve endings. _I am impenetrable_ , she chants her Occlumency mantra, _I am a fortress. Nothing can faze me._ Distantly, she acknowledges her body is vibrating with awareness. When Kylo brushes his thumb lightly over the back of her hand, eliciting tiny frissons across her skin, she snatches it away. 

“No funny business,” she reminds him.

Kylo is unabashed. “You’re right. I’ll be better.”

As they exit the castle through the entrance doors and walk outside to grounds that look like something out of a fairy tale, Rey stops in shock. Blue, magical flames crackle in between stone benches set against holly bushes. Each bush is bathed in a soft, glittery light, giving off the impression of bioluminescence. Beyond the bushes, wild, white roses grow in rows bigger and thicker than any non-magical flowers ever could, their heady scent permeating the air. The sky is so richly speckled with stars, Rey is certain she could simply reach out and pluck the first one of her choosing.

“Wow,” she breathes, craning her neck to look at the vast expanse of night.

“Yeah,” Kylo echoes, but he’s looking at her, not the velvet tapestry of sky. “Come sit with me.”

She plops herself next to him on one of the stone benches, smoothing her dress over her knees, careful to avoid any skin to skin contact. “Why did you want me to walk with you?”

This close, she can see the livid lightning scar bisecting his forehead. In the light of the blue flames, his eyes aren’t properly black – they’re charcoal flecked with olive, and right now, they’re fathomless and fire and she’s combusting. 

Silence stretches and crackles between them, fraught with tension. Rey’s palms are sweating, her mouth dry. She feels stripped bare under the heat of those eyes. His fingers graze her collarbone, tracing the dips and swells of her neck and Rey can’t help herself – she shivers, her entire body alight with the nearness of him.

“To do this,” Kylo says, leaning in, and then he kisses her.

At first, Rey is so shocked, she just lets it happen. _Her first kiss_. There is nothing sweet or soft about it - it’s hard and overwhelming, and when she sucks in a breath, he takes full advantage, deepening the kiss, touching his tongue to hers. His lips are the softest thing she’s ever felt, but bruising too, as though he’s determined to lay claim to her here and now. Her blunt nails dig into the rock-solid muscle of his shoulders through his dress robes. His tongue caresses hers roughly as he slides a knee between her thighs, parting her legs. And she lets him, his teeth suddenly sinking into her lower lip and sending her into paroxysms of pleasure. _Oh._ She wants him. _More. Closer. Deeper._ Her brain short circuits. For one blissful moment, Rey melts against Kylo as he crushes her to his big chest, his arms bracketing her throat, the heat and hugeness of him utterly intoxicating. 

The next, it’s like a match lit to kerosene, like a moment of impact as a curse hits a victim. The darkness in Rey writhes and uncoils, rearing upwards, as if Kylo’s lips and physical nearness have coaxed it to life. It sings with happiness; it expands through the hollow cavern of her chest, ready to be let free, to wreak its havoc -

Rey freezes, her lips now immobile, all that heat and lust transmuting to ice. She’s worked so hard to keep the latent Dark Magic inside herself at bay. When Professor Yoda had gently suggested Occlumency back in third year, she’d understood herself to be a danger to her fellow students. She must keep herself controlled … but how can she, when Kylo seems determined to unravel her? 

She breaks the kiss, wrenching herself away. Kylo’s eyes are closed. When he opens them, she can see how his pupils have dilated, swallowing up the entire iris of his eye.

“Rey,” he whispers in the most ragged voice imaginable.

“Stop it.” Rey is trembling. She hates herself for it. “Go away.”

 _I am impenetrable. Nothing can faze me._ But she’s _not_ , and Kylo _has_. All her earlier bravado has dissipated into the night. She just wants to run away. 

Kylo’s fingers on her face are infinitesimally gentle, the barest of touches. Looking at him head on is like staring directly into a bright light without blinking, so Rey stares at the grass instead. A black and red spotted beetle clambers awkwardly over a blade of grass, one of his wings crushed. She feels just like that beetle, dumb enough to get stomped on.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable,” Kylo whispers. “But I’m not sorry for kissing you. You have no idea have long I’ve wanted to do that.”  
Rey’s head jerks up. “You have?” She parrots, then immediately flushes with the stupidity of her question. She sounds exactly like the parade of girls sobbing over Kylo in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. _Merlin’s beard_. One kiss, and she’s mush. _I made a mistake_ , she thinks, _but never again._

Kylo’s smile is soft, a departure from his earlier smirk. “Yeah. Fuck, I’ve seen you fly on the Quidditch pitch. You’re brilliant. And Hux says you’re a child prodigy in Defense Against the Dark Arts – I know you’re a Gryffindor, but I’ve always wanted to get to know you. And then I saw you in this dress, and I just – I lost my head …”

He trails off. Rey returns to staring at the grass. “I’m sixteen years old. I’m not a child,” she retorts.

“ _That’s_ what you got from that?!” Kylo’s smile is like one of the stars in the sky, sucking her in. She wants to touch outline the seam of his lips. She wants to touch him. _No._ His smile is like a sickness, but she’s now inoculated. One kiss and she’s set for life. 

“Yeah.”

“You looked like you needed to be kissed.” Kylo’s voice is heady, hypnotic. “Actually,” he shifts closer to her, the warmth of his hands burning through her thin dress like a brand. “You still do.”

This time, when he lowers his mouth to hers, Rey is ready. She knows how to defend herself. There are any number of nonverbal hexes she could use – _Petrificus Totalus_ immediately comes to mind – but she doesn’t bother with magic. 

Instead, she cocks her fist and punches him in the jaw, as hard as she can.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Sirius Black's quote:
> 
> "We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are."


End file.
